


He Whose Name Is a Burden To Him

by ERNest



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Dissociation, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 04:09:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20960243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ERNest/pseuds/ERNest
Summary: Grantaire joins his friend of many names for a moment of peace, and when that peace is broken he helps to restore it.





	He Whose Name Is a Burden To Him

Grantaire would never choose to rise early for something like this; the sublime splendor of a field at dawn simply isn’t one of his many interests.But what with one thing and another he forgot to sleep last night, and when the color of the sky between his shutters began to shift, it brought to mind that enigma with either a thousand names or none at all.

That day they sparred together it was to let off steam or to stay in shape or to find in each other something that neither of them could articulate. And as they took a breather that fighter they all called Jean le Cric mentioned in passing that when he couldn’t find peace by expending excess energy, it sometimes came to _him_ in moments of stillness

This is one of those rare days that Grantaire feels fine, with no need for consolation, but out of curiosity or something more he wants to see that man again, so here he is, a silhouette in one of the faubourgs of Paris. The air is very sweet here, and his artists eye can see the value of such a place and how he would frame a painting of the field if he’d ever progressed past still lives.

Urbain Fabre barely glances up at his approach. “Thank you for joining me,” murmurs this city inside a garden within a city. “I hoped you would make your way here at some point, and you have.” Grantaire takes this as an invitation to sit down beside him. Perhaps he had some idea of talking with him but it seems wrong, almost obscene, to break the silence with whatever banalities would spill from his lips if he did, so he holds his peace.

Besides, as these two men experience the same morning in different ways they have a sort of wordless conversation. He knows he’s actually too young to feel that the best years of his life are behind him, but one would think that Ultime Fauchelevent is too close to the end of his days to feel that they are just beginning. There is an infinity of experience between them and somehow this distance makes them better able to understand each other. So they watch the light together, basking in the warmth of the sun and within its rays the warmth of love.

And then. Well it’s hard to really say what happens when the prison wagons rumble over the most out of the way road. Something in the air shifts, even with the Chain too far distant to be heard. In that soundless roar of humanity Civilization announces its presence in this pastoral beauty and Grantaire has never seen anything so barbaric.

It’s not the prisoners that fill him with revulsion. Why should they _not_ weep or swear or sing or stay silent? Nothing could be more natural in the face of such treatment, in the knowledge of where they are going. No, what makes his stomach turn are the chains that force them together, and the whips that force them to cower, and the carts that force them to go where other people want them.

Once, not even so long ago, Grantaire would have said so. He would have stood up to scream his disapproval at the wardens, and run after the wagons hurling invectives. But he’s been there and tried that, and what good has it done? Now he just turns his face away from misery and his own inability to alleviate it. But he’s not allowed to shut it out completely because he is not alone in this world.

The Beggar Who Gives Alms stares ahead, looking like he’s been robbed. His eyes are dark pits as he himself is lost in a dark pit and it is clear that what has been taken from this man is far more valuable and far harder to replace. He doesn’t know for sure, but it’s easy enough to guess what sort of thing would make this Man from Faverolles prune away so much of himself.

“Monsieur,” he says, careful not to startle his companion. He is careful, too, not to use any of his multitude of names, for fear that he chooses wrong and the appellation summons up some horror from his past. But it wouldn’t have made much difference because M. Leblanc is already trapped inside his mind and has gone nearly as pale as his hair. After too long a time the wagons have gone on their gruesome dismal way but the damage lingers and there is no immediate restoration in store. These things happen.

Grantaire is no physician of the soul and did not expect to be the only person on hand at the site of such distress. He is among the least equipped to deal with any of this, but if he is prepared do close his eyes to the cruelty of the wider world he cannot do the same to someone he considers a close acquaintance and even, perhaps, a friend. There is precedent in the depressive moments that he himself has been a toad in a well gazing up at a sky that he cannot hope to reach.

Every case is different and what helps one soul may harm another but he can only start with what he knows. He rests his hand, palm down, on Fauchelevent’s knee, applying no pressure but providing a presence, to remind him that there _is_ a world outside himself and someone will be here for him when he’s ready or able to return. Again there is no outward reaction but that doesn’t mean it’s gone unnoticed. Sometimes the air gets too heavy to move through, and memories get in the way of motor control, but usually Grantaire registers and appreciates it when someone takes the time to _be_ there with him. He doesn’t do anything else for quite some time, preferring to go too slow rather than rush into some action that might topple the apple cart.

Grantaire tends to take too many breaths at once, fighting for control when he cannot even control his own lungs, until he either tires himself or is reminded how to be still. The problem here seems to be the reverse; Fauchelevent is _already_ still, far too frozen to remember how to breathe, or that he needs to. But the principle should be the same, reestablishing a rhythm until it becomes instinctive once more.

So he moves his hand up and down the man’s leg in time with his breathing, which he exaggerates. It seems to calm him, and the air no longer crackles with that sense of blind terror, so Grantaire adds his voice to the mix, cracked and rusty as it is. “It’s okay, you’re okay, they’ve moved on, they can’t hurt you, they won’t find you or hurt you, whoever they are they’re in the past, but you’re here in the present with me, and you’re breathing in… and out… and in again… good, you’re doing a good job, and you’re more than the numbers that you were given, you _are_, and you’re okay, you’re going to be okay, and I’m here beside you, I’m right here as long as you need.”

Grantaire barely even knows what he’s saying but he knows that he dares not halt the flow of words because he gets the sense that silence is isolation. This Fauchelevent is the kind of puzzle that happens when someone has been isolated too often and for too long, whether by their own choice or because it has been foisted upon them. He is surprised to discover, though, that he was sincere in his own promise to stay. He never _lets_ himself care about such things and certainly doesn’t stick around to see how it turns out.

Fauchelevent seizes Grantaire’s hand with a force that surprises him, and hangs on like a drowning man clutching at straws. He interprets this as a plea to come closer and give him comfort but he still asks, “Is it okay to put my arm around you?” Jean Valjean — for it is he! — gives a shaky nod and practically falls into his embrace. They’ll never be as good as new, but in a little while they’ll help each other stand, and each go on to the rest of their separate days.

He would never have chosen to rise early for something like this, but he’s glad he was here so Valjean would not have to face this alone.


End file.
